Vodka Does Not Do Wonders
by DevilofSexAppeal
Summary: She's going to kill herself for not remembering anything. /Reviews Adored/ "If anything, I'm the one who was taken advantage of."


**AN: Inspired by a prompt on LJ. Hope you enjoy. :3**

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The first thing she notices that morning is that she is sore; very, **very** sore. She finds this more than a little odd, considering the overall reliability of her mattress. It has never let her down before, and she doesn't understand why it would start failing her now. Also, her sheets feel different than they usually do, and they even smell unfamiliar, yet at the same time _too_ familiar. Wondering if she accidentally used the wrong detergent, she opens her eyes. It takes all of one second for her to scan the room and come to a startling conclusion: this is _not_ her room.

She's about a half-second away from a full on panic attack before she remembers that she is currently staying in a hotel. So, it's pretty much a given that she wouldn't be in her room, obviously.

Relaxing back into the mattress, she's surprised to find that the bed doesn't feel _too_ sub-par, but it has to be, there's no other way her muscles could have ended up so horribly cramped (you can bet she'll be chewing out the manager about this). Turning her head back into the pillow, she notices the neon red 5:37 emitting from the bedside clock. It's still early, so at least she didn't oversleep or anything.

A second later her eyes drift to the vodka bottle that's conveniently located right beside the clock; it's mostly empty. She blinks, confused, and when she opens her eyes it's still sitting there. All grogginess gone, she furrows her brow and sits up so swiftly that it makes her a little dizzy. At that point, she notices several things:

1. She's naked.

2. This is not even _her_ hotel room.

3. She's naked.

4. She's completely alone (she thanks God for that one).

5. SHE'S NAKED.

Grabbing the sheets frantically, she pulls them up to her chest, feeling like a cliché from a horrible, b-rated movie. She quickly scans the room for her clothes, almost giving herself whiplash in the process. Spotting her dress (why is it hanging off the side of the television?), she does a double take to make sure she really is alone before scrambling out of the bed to retrieve it. Fighting off a shiver from the sudden cold, she grabs the dress and is quick to locate her bra (on the coffee maker). Getting dressed, she inwardly wonders if she slept with a judge last night. She has a mild head-ache, nothing she can't handle, but she has no recognition of last night.

She's actually pretty upset, because she had always promised herself she wouldn't sleep with a judge until her career was going entirely downhill; she had penciled in the illicit activity between getting her dui and her trip to celebrity rehab.

She can't even locate her panties, _anywhere_, and she's not entirely sure how disturbed that should make her feel. Pulling on her heels and snatching her purse from beside the door, she gives the room one more glance before making a quick getaway. She does not want to run into the actual occupant of the room.

As it's not even six yet, she encounters no one on the way to _her _room, and she's relieved to discover that her key is still located within her purse. After quickly cleaning herself up (how did she get a hickey _there?_), changing into a fresh set of clothes, and frantically pacing around her room for several, high-strung minutes, she makes the decision that a balanced breakfast is the best course of action to help settle her nerves. Also she's really hungry.

When she steps into the hotel's breakfast area she assumes that she's the only one there. As she makes her way towards the food, however, she is quickly proven wrong.

"Good thing this place has an early breakfast, I'm fucking starving."

She almost screams, that's how nervous she is, and she whips around, her heart skipping a beat. She's relieved to see that it's only Puck, sitting alone at one of the miniature tables several feet away, with a tray full of enough food to feed a third world country. Doing her best to calm down, she offers her usual upbeat smile as she faces him. She doesn't know why he's up so early, but she doesn't question it.

"Ah, yes. It's very convenient." Her voice is a little off, a little too high pitched, and he seems to notice because he lifts a brow. Letting his eyes travel down her, in a totally inappropriate way, he leers,

"You look a little tired. Fun night?"

She tries not to panic, wondering what gave her away so quickly, but her response is way too frantic, too defensive,

"What? No!"

At her response his brows raise (she must be _so _transparent right now), and it may be just her imagination, but he looks genuinely surprised, and maybe even a little…insulted? Wait, that doesn't make any sense, it's definitely her imagination.

"Really?" He deadpans, returning to his food. Even though he doesn't sound the least bit interested, she carries on, building her defense, "The beds here are just awful, aren't they? Absolutely dreadful even, I'm terribly sore."

He nearly chokes on his orange juice, and the look he sends her over his glass makes her feel more than a little uncomfortable.

"Right," he's studying her closely now, as if he's just realized something, "the beds…of course." He sets down his glass with a little more force than necessary. She winces at the noise, he smirks subtly. Selecting out a bagel from his impossibly large pile of food, he offers her another amused glance. Uneasy under his stare, she realizes that he's totally not buying her story, not at all.

Somehow, his years of sexual activities have equipped him with a sixth sense of knowing when someone's had sex. A shiver of horror runs up her body when she realizes what this could mean, but he doesn't seem to notice, because now he's totally focused on eating. But he definitely _knows, _and he's _definitely_ going to tell someone, she just knows it. Hell, he probably doesn't even have the capacity to keep a secret. Or maybe he does, she reasons with herself desperately. After all, he's so used to the whole "sex" thing that he's probably not even fazed by anything of this, he probably doesn't care in the slightest. Yeah, he doesn't really care, he's just making small talk because it's too early for him to be a complete ass.

"Finn's definitely not going to believe this."

She blanches, eyes widening in horror. Oh, he wouldn't dare!

"Don't say anything!" She hisses, both desperate and furious. He glances up at her again, looking thoroughly amused.

"You going to stop me?" He's way too smug, and even as he's eating that bagel she _really_ wants to hit him. She doesn't though, reminding herself to not leave evidence. He has absolutely no proof, and no one has any reason to believe him. Whatever he says will just be added to the rumor mill. Still, she'd rather not have word get out, even in rumor form. At a loss for any eloquent words, but still irreversibly angered, she resorts to the only language he seems to comprehend.

"Fuck you."

"I did."

His words sound quiet even in the emptiness of the room, and then he's back to his bagel, as if he never said a thing. It takes a few moments for his words to sink in, the anger on her face switching into confusion. It's at that moment she notices the cologne he's wearing, and she remember the smell of the sheets, and it's at that moment that everything just falls into place.

She gasps audibly, clasping a hand over her mouth. He stares up at her horror stricken face; his amused smirk clearly reads 'took you long enough'. When she doesn't move, doesn't react, he becomes suddenly wary. Then a worried look crosses his face, and he's completely serious when he groans,

"Tell me that you didn't, I don't know, trash the room or something? Because I ain't paying for any of that shit!"

He's so casual about it all, like nothing even happened, and she's gaping like an idiot, trying to string together a single coherent sentence.

"You…, _you, you_ _took advantage of me?_"

He looks insulted for about three seconds before he snorts, rolling his eyes at her dramatic stage whisper.

"Please, if anything is was practically the other way around."

"_What_?" She doesn't buy that, not even for a second.

He shrugs nonchalantly,

"You're pretty fucking persuasive when you're wasted, you know?" He looks even more amused now, if that's even possible, and he shoves the rest of the bagel into his mouth.

She just gaps at him, not quite believing him, but not quite able to doubt him either, considering she doesn't remember a single thing, while he seems to remember _everything_.

"That's completely immoral!" She hisses, "I was too intoxicated to think rationally!" Her defense is weak, but she won't admit that.

He places a hand on himself, looking offended, "Hey, I wasn't exactly sober last night!" He stands then, grabbing his tray of food, "And it doesn't matter either way," he adds, stepping away from the tables and closer to her, "If anything, I'm the one who was taken advantage of. Pretty sure you would have raped me last night if I had said no. So really, everything I did was in self defense."

She gaps at his audacity, completely flabbergasted as he rummages through his pile of food, "I don't even know how I made it to the room with most of my clothes; by the way, you owe me a new jacket." He picks out another bagel, gently handing it to her. He smirks when she takes it, using the opportunity to lean in close.

"Anyways," he drawls, "you want a repeat performance that you can actually _remember_, you call me up." She realizes he might be serious, and she definitely does not know how to respond to _that. _

Giving her a firm pat on the ass (with only minor groping) he heads towards the hall, "But, for the record, next time you have to buy me dinner first." He looks back at her, giving her a parting wink. "Otherwise I'm keeping the panties."

He disappears down the hallway, and she's dumbstruck as she stares after him.

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**Prompt: ****"Fuck you." ****"I did."**

**Please review. **


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